Request
by Sherloqued
Summary: Lagertha asks the Gods for guidance. A series of vignettes and drabbles of the Vikings characters.
1. Chapter 1

At dawn, Lagertha walked through the holt, until she arrived at the fjord's edge, gazing off into the mountains. It is a sacred place. She bowed her head. As she closed her eyes, all else around her disappeared, save for the distant caw of ravens and the gentle murmurs of the trees.

 _ _Hail to Thee, Day__ , she said, as she began her prayer. She felt confused, not knowing what to do - where to turn, whom she should trust. She asked for strength, and for victory, of course, but also what she should do.

 _ _What is it you ask of me?__


	2. Chapter 2

"You are back, Famous Wolf."

 _ _I pray to the Gods for guidance, and you return__ , Lagertha thought. "I thought that surely you would have forgotten us by now."

"I have not forgotten, Lagertha. Jamais."

"I like your Christian name, Hrólfr. It suits you."

"I was born Rollo Sigurdsson, Northman, brother of Ragnar Lothbrok Sigurdsson. The sons of farmers, from the lands near Kattegat, follower of our Gods."

"Then, Rollo Sigurdsson, when will you see that you were never in your brother's shadow?"

"We are bound together, it would seem." she said, touching his cheek.

"Yes."

"I am glad of it."


	3. Chapter 3

" _It is a great honor_ ," I hear, as my eyes open in a red mist. Ravens whisper and then fly.

She has been beside me on the battlefield countless times; I have watched for her back and she for mine in those times. She is wearing a coat of shining mail now, shining like gold, with a swan's wings. She kneels beside me, lifting my head slightly to give me a sip of what I at first think must be water, but it is a horn of mead.

 _Lagertha._

"Come," she says.

There is a longship burning in the fjord, the smoke rising. Farther out, waves wash over the jagged skerries. I feel strong hands slip under my arms, lifting me to one of the Æsir's horses, and sense the shell of me that remains. I hear drumbeat, songs and prayer, and the priest's antiphon Dirige; but I am happy. I see our son. Lagertha begins to cry when I say this to her, so I know that it is true. I cry also. I am old now, and I have lived a long, full life. Do not mourn me; for I am happy, I want to tell him, my son, my children.

It is a great honor. To sit at Odin's table, Lagertha at one side of me, Ragnar on the other, just as we have always been.


	4. Chapter 4

_The First Sailing_

As I look back at the monastery from where I sit, aboard the ship where they have taken me, it still smoulders in the sky from where it had been set ablaze. It is the eleventh day of the Ǣrra Līða; the month of June, Wōdnesdæg, in the year of our Lord 793. Late spring, almost summer - sunny and warm. The seas calm and the skies clear; mild winds. Good for sailing, so it is said, and which belies the events of just a few days before.

I feel a panic rise in me that threatens to overtake my senses if I am not careful. A tattered banner flaps noisily from the masthead high above me, and tells me again of the wind's direction. Roped to the single mast and with my wrists bound, as I look round me to try and distract myself I cannot help but be filled with awe, like a helpless child, not knowing what lies ahead of me, or what will happen to me. One seems to be a man of reason and inquisitiveness; a quiet, born leader who at times studies me with ice-blue eyes. As if to say, _do not waste your time looking back and bemoaning your fate, we are not going that way._ Another, a born warrior; emotional and passionate. And a woman as well! The storied shieldmaidens. The horn is sounded, announcing the ship's imminent departure.

The waves splash as the sailors cry and begin to push off from the beach with the incoming tide, the _vikingskip_ loaded with all of its ill-acquired riches. A man, who I believe is the shipwright because he seems to have an almost mystical sense of the living pulse of the ship and the sea, eyes me warily. The others pay me little heed.

They must have a reason for keeping me alive. I know some of their language, as I had made a halting attempt to speak to them and was soundly rebuffed. But I know I was understood by one, and I now listen intently to try and grasp onto bits and pieces of their conversations, the talk and laughter amongst themselves as we ready to sail on the ebb tide, trying to make sense of it all as my mind races. Perhaps it will be useful in some way.

Once we reach the open sea by oar, two of the crewmen skillfully climb aloft on the ropes and unfurl the reefed sail, and I feel the salt wind against my face as we set a northeasterly course, close to the wind, under full sail and the favour of the Gods. Safely underway, the now jubilant shipbuilder tosses a gold coin into the sea in tribute. I watch in desperation as the island of my home slips away from me. _Dear God_ , I pray silently, and think of the words of the 22nd Psalm. _Please do not forsake me_.

I must try and keep my wits about me.


	5. Chapter 5

From where I stand at the watchtower window, I see their approach upriver along the Seine, and I am overjoyed. I have been awaiting their arrival. The flotilla of ships, carved dragons at their prow and billowing sails; banks of shields and oars on each side, pulling through the water in near-perfect unison. I have missed them, and my old life.

* * *

At my castle in Rouen, Bjorn holds out a map, and has asked for my leave of safe passage so that their ships may proceed along Normandy's coast on their voyage to the Mediterranean; and I will grant it, on one condition.

"Let me go with you," I say. _My heart would beg_.

Bjorn Ironside is the one they look to now. When I board the ship, I am immediately seized by crew members at his order; my wrists and ankles bound, and a rope looped round my waist. I expect I am in for a good keelhauling. Bjorn nods his head, and I go over the side of the ship and into the sea, in all my fine clothing.

But then, I am hauled back up, and it is as if I am reborn. As I fall back into the boat, Bjorn looks at me with a half-smile and a nod; a twinkle in his eye, almost a wink. And then it is as if all has been settled, without another word.

This is their message to me; like a tweak to the nose or a cuff on the ear. Even after all I have done, I am still Viking, still kin. And I am needed; given even a measure of respect.

Through all of my gasping and coughing up of seawater, I laugh with the joy of it. I would expect nothing less of him.

 _My son._


	6. Chapter 6

__First Night__

At sundown, at what would be eventide prayers for me, there is a change aboard the ship. I speak the prayers to myself. The crewmen of the day retire to eat and sleep, and the night crew begin their watch. I am between daylight and darkness.

At dusk, I see and hear the crew looking up into the late spring sky from the ship's bow, pointing to and discussing the position of the stars and constellations as they emerge, navigating by the stars. Others trim the sail, and the ship's mood slows. The shipbuilder is with them. I have gathered that his name is Hrafna-Flóki, Raven-Flóki. Light glimmers on the darkening water and the boat rocks gently on the waves.

I am untied by the one they call Ragnar Shaggy Breeches, seemingly with much affection, who is their leader and with whom they have an easy camaraderie, as I have observed a few of the men clap him on the shoulder, joke and laugh with him. Where could I go anyway; and we both know it, and as he crouches down to untie me, he looks into my eyes and smiles, and our hands briefly touch.

My wrists are sore and my body is stiff from being in the same position for so long, and I appreciate the opportunity to get up and move about. He is handsome, as I see him from this closely, fair-haired; with a slim and wiry-strong build. He is gentle with me now though, and hands me a rough, worn blanket, nods, and I am shown where I may sleep - between the ribs of the ship with the rest of the crew; and needless to say, I do not get the choicest spot. I am given haberdine, or salted codfish, to eat, with some kind of hardtack bread, and something alcoholic to drink. Mead, I find that it is, and I am hungry.

Hrafna-Flóki's ravens settle and murmur from their wicker birdcages nearby, and the boards and timbers creak with the rhythm of the sea as I drift off to into a fitful half-sleep, thinking that this may well be one of the most profound experiences of my life.


	7. Chapter 7

__First Night__

At sundown, at what would be eventide prayers for me, there is a change aboard the ship. I speak the prayers to myself. The crewmen of the day retire to eat and sleep, and the night crew begin their watch. I am between daylight and darkness.

At dusk, I see and hear the crew looking up into the late spring sky from the ship's bow, pointing to and discussing the position of the stars and constellations as they emerge, navigating by the stars. Others trim the sail, and the ship's mood slows. The shipbuilder is with them. I have gathered that his name is Hrafna-Flóki, Raven-Flóki. Light glimmers on the darkening water and the boat rocks gently on the waves.

I am untied by the one they call Ragnar Shaggy Breeches, seemingly with much affection, who is their leader and with whom they have an easy camaraderie, as I have observed a few of the men clap him on the shoulder, joke and laugh with him. Where could I go anyway; and we both know it, and as he crouches down to untie me, he looks into my eyes and smiles, and our hands briefly touch.

My wrists are sore and my body is stiff from being in the same position for so long, and I appreciate the opportunity to get up and move about. He is handsome, as I see him from this closely, fair-haired; with a slim, wiry strong build. He is gentle with me now though, and hands me a rough, worn blanket, nods, and I am shown where I may sleep - between the ribs of the ship with the rest of the crew; and needless to say, I do not get the choicest spot. I am given haberdine, or salted codfish, to eat, with some kind of hardtack bread, and something alcoholic to drink. Mead, I find that it is, and I am hungry.

Hrafna-Flóki's ravens settle and murmur from their wicker birdcages nearby, and the boards and timbers creak with the rhythm of the sea as I drift off to into a fitful half-sleep, thinking that this may well be one of the most profound experiences of my life.


End file.
